Chapter 3: From Dusk to DawnChapter TextThe girl was sitting alone within the dark confines of her 'room', idly bouncing a basketball sized orb of light back and forth against the wall with two hands. She had been forced to come up with new and creative ways to keep her mind from slipping away and as a result, she had been regularly pushing the boundaries of what she could achieve with with her strange powers. What had begun as a simple source of light had turned into her main source of amusement; each time that she threw the light back to the wall she would try to make it bigger and brighter before it returned to her hands, until it would inevitably grow too large and she would struggle to keep its form, causing the light to flicker and fade into the darkness where she would begin with her tennis ball sized light once again. With precious little else to do, it gave her some kind of dexterous mental and physical task to do and she often switched things up by bouncing it off different surfaces, or attempting to throw and catch it with her eyes closed. It was a far more difficult task than it sounded, given that the ball made absolutely no noise when it struck a surface, although sometimes she did wish that she had a real ball purely for that satisfying 'thud' that she was missing.
At first, she had been quite upset about her predicament and had mourned the loss of her books and the loss of the only precious item that she had ever owned. Yet as time thoughtlessly powered forward, she found that her formerly powerful emotions had begun to fade into a cathartic apathy and a sense of dispassionate disregard. When she had first been unceremoniously dumped into the cellar, she had felt a certain anger and discontentment within her soul yet as everything around her was stripped away by the darkness that nibbles at the edges of her vision, she felt herself slowly slipping away without a care in the world. Her deep thoughts and vivid imagination were not aided by the intense isolation and over time, they began to transform into vague musings and existential questions that poked and prodded at the delicate veil that guarded the soul.
Why am I here? Is this all that there is for me? What purpose does this serve?
She began to see herself as nought but a shattered reflection to be observed from afar; a pane of fractured glass that warped time and twisted life around its sharp, broken edges until something unrecognisable eventually emerged from the cracks of light with a polite smile, asking kindly if it was allowed to pass through to the other side, and each time a chorus of darkness and silence would slam the dangerous shard back in place and cry, 'no.'
The days melded into weeks and the months stumbled into years, although the girl hardly noticed the passing of time at all. She occupied her body with pointless tasks that served no real purpose, although she struggled far more with generating any kind of stimulation for the mind. Her mind wandered into strange and surreal places; she hadn't seen a mirror in quite some time and she wondered what she would see if she was to look into one. Would she even know the girl on the other side? Perhaps she would be kind and thoughtful, with an infectious laugh that spread joy and happiness to any she drifted down upon, or perhaps she would be cold and dangerous, a ticking time-bomb that threatened to violently detonate and ruin everything that the world held dear. Perhaps, she would see neither and instead, she would simply see the vacant, silver eyes of a ghost who was still walking among the living.
Her sense of time had become so completely distorted that she didn't even know what age she was anymore, nor how long she had been in the cellar. Time is a highly underrated construct; to be without a sense of time is to drift dangerously beyond the thin fabrics of the world that give one a sense of purpose and meaning. The tiniest strands of security that keep the most volatile of people calm and connected to their environment; the ticking of a second or the leaping of a year, all carefully constructed to ensure that every person had their place and knew their value. An age is provided on good faith as a careful collection of currency and traded for peace and serenity.
'May I purchase a year of life, good sir?'
'Certainly, that will cost three hundred and sixty five days.'
'Do you mind if I pay in minutes?'
'I only accept hours, I'm afraid.'
The girl had no idea at all but it was, in fact, her eleventh birthday that she was quietly spending bouncing a magical orb off a dirty wall within a locked cellar. A rather poor trade, however the month was rather weak at the moment and was trading poorly against the day. Such was the case of Great Depressions; perhaps when a boom hit, she would be able to short the year in exchange for a few valuable hours. If only.
The only concept of time that she still possessed was whenever Beatrice opened the door to throw some scraps of food down into her abyss. The heavens opened above her as light flooded inward, and just as quickly, retreated back once it had seen the darkness and despair below. At first, she believe that it signaled the morning and the start of the day, yet the hours blended together into such a painful whirlwind of time that she was no longer even sure that was the truth. Who was to say that there was any form of regularity to her arrival of food? All it would take is a different hour, or a different day, and every system of measurement that she had provided for herself would come crumbling apart at the seams. Whenever the heavens opened she had begun to ask all sorts of questions about time, yet the heavens rarely replied. Their place was within the light after all, not down in the dark depths with her.
Instead of following a pattern, she began to simply sleep whenever she wanted; her sleep cycle constantly rotated through the day and night. She would sleep to numb the pain, she would sleep from fatigue, she would sometimes simply sleep because she couldn't come up with anything else to do. The lack of any kind of sleep pattern was, unsurprisingly, not particularly helpful to her mental state and it only served to cause her to withdraw even further into her own shell as her mind struggled to find any kind of grounding in the world.
For the first few months of her renewed life sentence within this dark space, she had toyed with the idea of using her teleport to go outside, even if for no other reason but to simply see the sun, yet every time that she considered it, a strange and unusual fear crept over her. It had been so long and she longed for the warmth of its embrace, yet at the same time, she understood this dark and cold world that she was in. She understood that time had no meaning here; she found a strange comfort in drifting peacefully through the days as they speed up, and slowed down, at will. Down here, she knew that she was her only friend, her best friend and her worst enemy, all wrapped up into one fractured girl who peered back at herself through the shattered reflections of her past and her future. The thought of going outside became beautiful; a place of endless potential and limitless possibilities. It represented the ideal of hope and conquest, of power and glory, of achievement and finality. She could see the sun in all of its splendor within her mind, and she felt that the day she saw the sun would be the day that she finally, blissfully passed from this world. It was a reward that was waiting for her on the other side, and she knew that she couldn't just go look at it now. Not yet, not until it was time. The sun was potential and therefore it was beautiful; not because of what it was but because of what it could be.
She paused in her thoughts as she realised that something was distracting her from her usual musings. Something was off. She continued to bounce the ball of light as she wondered just what it was causing her to stir. Perhaps she was truly, finally, blissfully, losing her mind as she desperately wished that she would but, no, there was definitely something unusual happening.
She looked down as she bounced the light and realised that something was sitting on the ground right in front of her bare and calloused feet. Her eyes were being caught by a shimmering reflection with each rhythmic passing of the gentle blue light. The light was being reflected off the surface of a deep, black ink that almost looked as if it had been freshly written up the front of an envelope that had, somehow, found its way down to her at some point in time. She peered down at it with a mild interest growing in her mind; for the first time in a long time, her curiosity had began to shyly peek out from behind a closed door and stare at the strange sight.
It was a letter; a very fancy looking letter at that, which was strange enough on its own. Why would a letter be down here? It wasn't here yesterday, nor the day before, as far as she was aware. Who was it intended for? It certainly couldn't have been for her. She didn't exist after all, and only a few misguided fools wrote letters to the ghosts who walked among the living.
She released her orb of light and instead reached out to pick up the letter, however she was forced to pull her hand back immediately. It was as though she had been electrocuted by the strange letter; as soon as her fingers had touched the paper she felt a rush of power and energy like she had never felt before. It was intoxicating and she could feel her entire body drowning slowly within the addictive feeling of crackling energy that now permeated the air around her. She had been lethargic and apathetic for so long that the sudden burst of life from within the letter had shaken her very mind awake. As the dust began to be brushed out from the corners of her brain, she peered down once again with renewed, and very alert, eyes.
She knew; this letter held a strange power that was not unlike her own. Her right palm was painfully throbbing and she held it to her face with a feeling of awe and excitement. This letter had come to her specifically, it was surely no coincidence that this letter possessed the same kind of energy that she had. No-one had placed the letter here, nor dropped it in their mailbox, nor asked Beatrice to pass it on. This letter was for her, and for her only, and it had ensured through the application of physics-defying force that it reached her. She knew it.
After taking a moment to steady her trembling hands, she reached down once again and slowly picked up the letter, this time avoiding any sparking of strange powers or illogical chemical reactions. She wondered for a moment if perhaps the strange sensation she had felt had merely been from her own body suddenly waking from its emotional and chemical slumber, stirring as it made contact with something that it finally recognised as a familiarity. The floating ball of light surprisingly zoomed to her head without instruction, as if it knew that this was an important moment for the girl. Perhaps the light itself was simply eager for its own purpose and place in the world. It had been there for her in her darkest moments, and she felt it only fitting that it light the way for her once again as she inspected the letter, starting with the first two words on the front.
"Is that...?"
She gasped with shock as she inspected the extravagant, flourished letters that swirled in beautiful loops across the front of the perfectly sealed envelope that she held within her small, delicate and suddenly trembling hands.
"... is that my name?"
She stared down at the two words and for once, her mind was too stunned to race wildly around her head. Why was her heart pounding so rapidly? Why did she feel so much… fear? She realsed that she was utterly terrified at the thought of those two words being her name. Yet, she already knew that it was; as soon as she read them she knew that it was her. Her fear wasn't of the name itself, but of what it represented; she feared what it might mean to accept those two words as her own and to take on the burden of responsibility that she now suddenly felt. She found herself facing a new question that rattled through her struggling mind;
Do I really want to open this letter?
She had no answer to that question, however she could hear a strange, distant voice telling her to be brave, to be strong. She laughed a single, tiny laugh at the thought that she had finally gone mad, that she had finally succumbed to the dark. Once the first laugh broke free she found that she could no longer stop; she began to laugh loudly and wildly, with tears forming in her eyes and she struggled to breath, despite knowing that there was nothing funny about it.
When she would look back upon this moment many years later, she could never quite recall why she had eventually decided to open the letter. She knew only that she was glad she did.
The letter was an offering of acceptance to a school that apparently taught 'witchcraft' and 'wizardry', of all things. The mere notion would have been ludicrous to anyone else and would have been immediately dismissed as a poorly disguised scam or rather elaborate prank, but not her. Her heart pounded as she realised that this was what she needed. This was it; this was the answer to understanding her life and why she was here. This was her ticket to the sunlight.
"... term begins on the 1st of September…
… three sets of plain work robes (black)…
… the Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk…
… students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad…
…
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress."
It was as though the letter had been written in a foreign language as she didn't even understand half of what was said within it, however she clutched it to her chest regardless with tears in her eyes. There were other people out there like her! She couldn't possibly be the devil, if there was a whole community of people out there! There was even enough to form an entire school!
Her burst of excitement faded as soon as it arrived, however. She had no idea where to go, or what to do. Where was this school? There was certainly no way that Beatrice was going to allow her to go or to help in any way, and she had no money, nor transport. She had nothing.
She slowly realised that the idea of going to the school was a nice fantasy, but that's all it was. A fantasy.
Still, she at least she had the comforting letter itself and that was more than enough for her. The knowledge that she wasn't the only one and that there were others out there like her was a bright flame of comfort within her chest. She slipped the letter back into its envolope and tenderly ran her fingers over the black letters on the front, which in perfect cursive letters formed the words;
Skyla Potter,
The Cage in the Cellar,
Wool's Orphanage,
London.
***********************
Skyla (as she was still getting used to calling herself) sat within her room and continued to bounce her little ball of blue light off the wall as she sat and thought deeply. She hadn't heard the name before, since any of the the other girls she had know were called "Sarah," or "Hannah," or such. She rather liked the way it rolled off her tongue and even let out a small giggle as she thought about how it was quite fun to say. She enjoyed exaggerating the second syllable and extending it out as she repeated her name to herself multiple times with an amused voice. She thought that it also looked quite nice in the fanciful, cursive characters that were on the front of her acceptance letter, though she wouldn't have a clue about how to actually write in such a way. She wondered if the others would make fun of her if they found out what her name was, but surprisingly, she found that she didn't really care anymore. It was a strange feeling to her, but she felt as though she had suddenly gained something back that belonged to her, something of tremendous importance. It wasn't just a name that she had reclaimed; she had gained the beginnings of a sense of self, something that was far more important than the name on its own.
The positive thoughts that she was having left her running on a high for several days, however she slowly began to settle down as her thoughts once again turned to her state of being within the dark cellar. She may have a name now, and that was a tremendous comfort to her, yet it wasn't as though she could share that fact with anyone, and it wasn't as though that actually changed anything about her life.
Just as she began to fall back into her emotional slumber, a loud noise from outside the cellar caused the ball of light to drop from her hands and disappear as she sprung to her feet, like a startled deer. She could hear an unfamiliar man shouting very loudly from outside, and she could hear the sound of something being thrown and smashed outside the door. The disturbing noises got closer and closer until-
"THE NERVE!" an absolute giant of a man roared as he physically kicked the outer door of the cellar in, flooding her room with painfully blinding light and shards of broken wood, "THE DAUGHTER OF LILY AND JAMES POTTER KEPT IN A CELLAR!?"
Skyla stared in absolute shock as the largest man she had ever seen in her life tried to squeeze down into the small, enclosed space. The cramped conditions (for him, at least) seemed to only make him angrier as he aggressively demanded the key to the gate from a red-faced Beatrice who hovered in the back.
"Forget it!" he said angrily after waiting for only a split-second, "stand back!"
He reached forward and placed two hands on either side of the gate, grabbing hold of the iron bars and he pulled with a mighty heave. Skyla quickly scrambled for the back of the cellar as the stone crumbled and with absurd strength, he managed to pull the entire combination of gate and bars from their foundations. Thankfully they weren't load bearing as they had been added after the construction of the cellar, however as the dust settled Skyla did wonder for a moment if she was moments away from having the entire orphanage collapse upon her. It was quite terrifying, as was the man who was responsible.
"Right then," the man huffed with exertion as he shuffled into the cellar in a very uncomfortable looking crouch, "where you at?"
Skyla said nothing at all as she hugged the back wall in fear. She hoped that the large man wouldn't be able to see her as she clung to whatever shadows she could still find, however he pulled out, of all things, a small pink umbrella and the cellar was suddenly flooded with more light.
"Oh…"
He stared at her with a shocked expression plastered on his face.
The girl looked terrible; she was covered in muck and grime, despite her best efforts to keep herself clean with merely tap water and she wore what could only be described as tattered rags, since the holes in her clothing were now so large that it made it hard to see where the clothing was actually supposed to end. Her long, black hair was matted and filthy, and her face was just as dirty as the rest of her body was. What truly shocked the man however was the thinness of her face and the gaunt way in which her eyes sat within her sockets. Her legs were exceedingly thin and she wasn't much more than skin and bone in any part of her body. She hadn't needed to use many of her muscles for a long time and so they had atrophied in a way that made him slightly ill to look at.
Incidentally, as her eyes slowly adjusted to the new source of bright white light, Skyla thought that the man in front of her looked very bizarre and out of place as he was so tall, wide and plump. His dark brown hair was almost as long as hers was and it was just as wild, if not more-so as it was frizzy and stuck out from his head like a lion's mane. She wondered if he was like the stories Beatrice had once told her of Samson; she had a sudden strange urge to cut the hair and see if he lost his strength. In addition to his bushy hair, he had a large, untamed beard that obscured the entire lower half of his face. She couldn't help but remember the exaggerated illustrations she had once seen in a children's book of dangerous and wild looking vikings who raided coastal villages and drank endless amounts of alcohol with rough mannerisms and energetic dispositions.The man certainly looked as though he was capable of raiding a village by himself, although she couldn't help but think a small pink umbrella wouldn't be a vikings first choice of weapon.
"What have they done to you?" he asked in low voice.
Skyla said nothing and simply tried to process exactly what she was looking at and how her world had suddenly flipped upside down.
"You never replied to your letter, so Dumbledore, he… but then the address…" the man began, but he faltered when he realised that Skyla wasn't listening to a word of what he was saying and she was staring up at him with wide and fearful eyes.
"I'm not here to hurt you or nothin'," he said quickly with realisation, "look, here," he maneuvered himself around for a moment until he awkwardly sat down on the floor in the middle of the cellar. It did help Skyla to relax; with how much difficulty he had getting himself down she was quite confident that it would take him a solid minute or two to get up again.
"Are you quite finished making yourself at home!?" Beatrice demanded loudly of the man in shock and anger, "who do you think you are!? Look what you have done to my door, you are barking mad if you think that I'm paying for tha-"
With a terrifying scowl, the large man turned around and pointed his pink umbrella at Beatrice. To Skyla's (and Beatrice's) immense shock, a giant wave of flames shot forth from the umbrella and Beatrice screamed loudly in fear. The flames engulfed her entirely and for a moment Skyla thought he may have killed her, however the flames vanished after a moment and Beatrice was left standing with singed clothes and burned hair, with a look of pure astonishment and fear on her face. She took a small step backwards, before suddenly turning and running away with a loud scream.
"Whoops, er, didn't mean to do em that big," the man said, though he didn't sound like he deeply regretted the action.
"Anyway… I'm Hagrid," he explained as he turned back to Skyla, "the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. You know all about Hogwarts, right?"
Skyla eventually found her voice, although she was still attempting to process what she had just seen.
"That's this… witchcraft school, isn't it?"
"That's right," Hagrid said with a nod, "Since you're eleven now it means you'll be going this year to study magic, although you're only just barely in this batch of intakes cause your birthday is at the end of July, which is why we needed to process your entry quickly to get you in on time before school starts but when you didn't reply to-"
Skyla shook her head slightly as she tried to process what was being said.
"Wait, I'm sorry… I'm eleven?" she asked.
"Uh, yeah?" Hagrid said with a slight chuckle, "what you don't know how old you are? Forget your birthday or summin'? Be the only person in the world who did."
"I don't know what my birthday is, no-one does."
He chuckled slightly as he thought that she was pulling his leg, however he slowly realised from her serious expression that she wasn't joking.
"You really don't know?" he asked seriously.
"Well you just said it's the end of July, so… I guess I know that much now," she shrugged.
"The 31st of July," Hagrid said with a nod, "crazy that you don't know that. Practically a public holiday in the magical world! And, the happiest day of your parents' life, I'd wager."
"You know my parents!?" she said with shock as she stepped forward several paces.
"Well… yeah I knew them," he said blankly, "but… you know all about them, right?"
"Not a thing," Skyla said, "Beatrice said they were probably drug-addicts who dumped me at the steps, it happens from time to time-"
"WHAT!" Hagrid bellowed loudly, causing Skyla to shrink back in fear.
"I'm sorry!" Skyla said quickly, though she didn't really know what she was apologising for.
"You really, you really don't know about them?" he said as he tried to lower his voice after startling her.
"No…" Skyla replied carefully, "… should I?"
"Your parents were two of the finest people who ever lived," Hagrid said flatly.
"Were?" Skyla asked as she picked up on the implication, "meaning they aren't alive any more?"
"No…" Hagrid said quietly, "they died a decade ago, on the night you got that scar on your hand."
He pointed towards her right palm and with surprise, Skyla opened her hand and looked at it.
"How did you know about that?" she asked, confused.
"Everyone knows about tha'!" Hagrid said with a laugh, "that scar is famous. Ain't no-one out there in the magical world who hasn't heard of Skyla Potter or her famous scar."
"Me? Why would anyone have heard of me?"
"Well, you were the one who brought about the fall of… You-Know-Who," Hagrid said, though he lowered his voice at the last part, "I was there, you know. I took you back to Dumbledore after… well, 'it' happened. I… I might have told a few people at the pub later about what had happened, but… well, we were celebratin', you see."
"I don't understand," Skyla said in confusion, "who are you talking about?"
"I guess you're too young to know about all of that… Well, You-Know-Who was an evil wizard and your parents stood up to him at every turn. He eventually found them and murdered them… mind you, judging by the state of the house when we found you, they put up one hell of a fight. Anyway, he tried to kill you and-"
"And?" Skyla asked when Hagrid didn't continue.
"Well, he died," Hagrid shrugged, "don't think anyone but Dumbledore knows what actually happened in there since no-one saw it, but you were the reason he died. People see you are the saviour of the magical world, ya know?"
Skyla thought deeply about the story for a moment. It sounded unbelievable, yet she had just witnessed a giant of man rip the bars off her cellar door with his bare hands and engulf a woman in flames from a small pink umbrella, so…
"Who is Dumbledore?" Skyla asked, "you mentioned him a few times now."
"Who's Dumbledore?" Hagrid replied with a laugh, "why, only the greatest wizard of all time! He's the headmaster of Hogwarts. He's the one who sent me down here, when you didn't reply to confirm your place at Hogwarts. Looked positively shocked when he saw the address, mind you. Never seen him make a face like that before…"
"I wasn't really sure how to answer," Skyla admitted, "I've never sent a letter. Besides, it's not like I will be allowed to go anywhere so there's not much point in accepting."
"Oh don't you worry about tha' none," Hagrid said darkly, "I'd like to see that old woman try and stop Skyla Potter from attending Hogwarts. Riots on her doorstep within a week, I'd wager."
Skyla couldn't help but laugh slightly, "right. Riots on my behalf, sure."
"If people knew what happened here, they would definitely riot," Hagrid said with utter confidence, "you'll see, come on."
"What?"
"Your parents have had your name registered for Hogwarts since before you were born," Hagrid chuckled, "there's no way you aren't attending. Now come on, we better get you… ready. I don't really know any magic that can help with this kind of thing, but, do you have any nicer clothes?"
Skyla shook her head. She had only ever worn one of the old, grey uniforms and once Beatrice had locked her in the cellar, she had stopped giving her bigger clothes despite the fact that she was rapidly growing. The bizarre thing was that the uniform still fit somehow; it was almost like the clothes had expanded on their own as she grew. It was tattered and full of holes in many places, but, it provided some sense of comfort to her by at least preventing her from being completely naked.
"Well... I guess we can go get some muggle clothes," Hagrid said with a furrowed brow, "that will do until we can get you properly dressed. Gotta be somewhere around here we can do that."
"Muggle?"
"Non-magical folk," Hagrid explained offhandedly, "like your… Matron. Now, let's get out of here before my back is completely done for."
With a sigh, Hagrid began the arduous process of extracting himself from his seated position on the ground. Eventually, with a rather awkward crouch-walk, he managed to get himself back out of the cellar. After a drawn out moment of indecision, Skyla eventually decided to run after him.
"That's better!" he exclaimed as he emerged with relief into the entrance hallway and stretched out to his full (and rather impressive) height. He spotted Beatrice hovering in the back behind the stairs, where she had ushered the rest of the curious children.
"We're going shopping," Hagrid announced loudly to the woman, "she'll be back whenever she's back. And there better be a damn good bedroom waiting for her when she gets back. If I see any bars again, so help me-"
"Whatever you want!" Beatrice squeaked out in fear as she recoiled away. She definitely had no desire to invoke the ire of the man who had just bathed her in ungodly flames and pulled iron from stone as if it were nothing.
"Damn muggles," Hagrid grumbled as he guided Skyla to the front door, "now, there are some mighty fine muggles out there, don't get me wrong. But some of them…"
He exhaled loudly as he swung the front doors of the orphanage so hard that he broke the hinges. To Skyla's immense surprise, it appeared to be morning and it was so bright outside that she had to shield her eyes for several minutes before they could continue.
"Am I dead?" Skyla asked curiously as she felt the warm rays of the sun on her very pale skin and squinted vaguely up to the sky.
Hagrid simply chuckled and replied, "nah... I'd say you're just about to start livin'."
Chapter 4: Earned in BloodChapter TextSkyla was experiencing an intense sensory overload as Hagrid took her from the outer suburbs of London towards the inner city districts in the sidecar of his very powerful motorbike. He had strapped a helmet onto her head that was far too big, and given her goggles that didn't stay on at all, but she didn't care in the slightest as she hung out of the sidecar like a excited puppy who was on its very first car ride. She eagerly drank in the sights and sounds of the city as they passed by; a playground full of laughing children climbing on shiny play equipment, towering buses that roamed past with loud honking noises and a countless number of strangers walking in all directions. Some were clearly heading to work wearing business suits or formal skirts, while others seemed to be running in sportswear for enjoyment or bringing in the newspaper while having a joyful 'chat' with their neighbours. Many of the people stopped what they were doing and looked as they passed by, since the tall and wide Hagrid sitting on a booming motorbike with a small girl in the side car attracted quite a lot of attention. Hagrid didn't seem to particularly care that everyone stared at them as they rode by, so Skyla simply shrugged and ignored them too.
Even as she stared out into the city with awe and inhaled the fresh air as deeply as her lungs would allow, she still wasn't entirely sure that she wasn't dead or dreaming. It was so surreal, and she couldn't help the niggling suspicion that she had actually died at some point along the way. The sun was simply too warm and comforting upon her cold and pale skin, the air was astonishingly fresh to her lungs that had only ever breathed in the stale, lifeless scraps that filtered through the walls and the sky was such an unbelievably bright blue and so endlessly expansive that she realised there was no way any of it could be real. She must have either died or finally gone insane, although she wasn't entirely sure which one was the superior option between the two.
She eventually came to the conclusion that even if she had died or lost her mind, this was still far more preferable to living in the cellar, so she might as well enjoy it while it lasted.
Eventually Hagrid pulled into a car park and stopped his motorbike directly outside the entrance to a rather trendy department store. A few muggles looked at him with scowls on their faces while muttering scathing words under their breath as the large and rough-looking Hagrid got off the bike while a ragged Skyla climbed out of the sidecar, however none were brave enough to actually approach the giant man about his rather creative choice of parking. Many muggles returned to their overpriced sports cars that day with strongly worded complaints to their wives or girlfriends (or both) about the decrepit state of their proud country and the filth that was ruining it for everyone.
Oblivious to the devastating plight of the wild muggle, Hagrid and Skyla entered into the building and Skyla was immediately overwhelmed with the sights and sounds that struck her as she walked in. Several screens at the front displayed a variety of strange images and she could hear music playing, though she didn't know where from as it seemed like it was all around them. There were so many brightly coloured clothes on display and the first floor of the building seemed to be entirely dedicated to clothing and accessories. She was sure she could easily spend all day looking at the pretty dresses and brightly coloured T-shirts if they had the time to spare, which she doubted that they did. Some pieces of clothing were almost painfully colourful and were quite astonishing, while others had some sort of picture on the front with a message or a logo for brands that Skyla didn't recognise. She didn't know how she felt about those ones, but all of the clothing was a long way from the tired, old, tattered uniform that she was currently wearing, that was for sure.
Hagrid approached a young woman in a store uniform who was organising a few clothes on a free-standing display, while Skyla happily stood there and looked around with interest at anything, and everything.
After a short discussion, the staff member eventually walked over to Skyla with a kind smile on her face. She was fairly young herself and had deep brown hair that was neatly tied back behind her head, with thin glasses on her face that gave her a gentle look.
"Hello, Skyla," she said softly, "my name is Olivia. Your… 'teacher'… said that you need some help in looking a little more presentable."
"Hello," Skyla replied with a little shyness to her voice. She was feeling quite overwhelmed already and this was the second stranger that she had to speak with today, "I… I'm meant to start school soon."
"Oh, are you starting secondary this term?" Olivia asked with a smile, "it's quite a big step up, but I'm sure that you will love it."
There were several things that Skyla didn't fully understand about what the woman had just said, but, she simply nodded along anyway.
"Well, how about we do something to get this hair out of the way first?" she offered kindly, "then we'll make sure you have some nice clothes for when you make all of your new friends."
On the list of strange experiences that Skyla had endured during her life, this was certainly up there as one of the oddest. Olivia gave her hair a quick brush before tying it back and guiding her to a changing room, where she was repeatedly passed several items of clothing over the door. To Skyla's surprise, there was a large mirror in the changing room and for the first time in many years, she looked at her own reflection intently.
As she stared at her frail body, even she thought that she looked very skinny and rather unpleasant to look at, and she could see why Hagrid had wanted to get her appearance sorted. When she thought about the various other people that she had seen in the store so far, she realised that she looked very worn and ratty in comparison and she began to feel quite guilty about having forced Hagrid to be seen with her. Olivia managed to provide a constant distraction from her thoughts however as the woman bombarded her with all manner of clothing.
"... this one is cute, don't you think…?"
"... hm I think those two clash a bit, lets try something else…"
"... Oh, it's called a training bra and you wear it under your shirt, you see…"
"... These trainers are very popular, both stylish and comfortable…"
"... hm, let's try another colour, you have such pretty eyes that I think we should build around that…"
When Skyla had finished popping in and out of the changing room, after dressing and undressing many times, she finally emerged for the last time to reveal her new look.
"Look at you!" Hagrid said fondly, "completely different!"
She truly did look completely different after her miniature make-over. Her long black hair was tied back in a simple ponytail and held in place with a dark green scrunchie. She had a simple, clean white T-shirt with a colourful splash of green that traversed over the shoulder and a plain black skirt that complemented her hair. She had dazzling white trainers on her feet and Olivia had also given her a white training bra to wear under her shirt, along with fresh cotton underwear and socks that she had voluntarily ripped from the packet and given to the girl. She figured that if Skyla's outer clothes were in such a state of disrepair, then, she didn't really want to think about the rest. She'd buy the girl some underwear and socks herself if she had to.
"How do you feel?" she asked Skyla with a warm smile.
"I… I feel… human," Skyla said quietly.
Olivia chuckled, "I'll take that to be a good thing, then. You can throw away your old clothes in the bin over there, unless you want to keep them. I can take the tags off the clothes you are wearing to scan them."
Skyla most certainly did not want to keep her old clothes and she found it rather cathartic to dispose of them, with perhaps a little more aggression than most people tended to have when they put things in the rubbish bin.
In addition to the clothes that she was wearing, Skyla had collected a stack of various T-shirts, skirts, shorts and trousers that Olivia had said she looked good in, along with plenty of clean undergarments and a few different hair-ties in assorted colours.
"Alright, all done?" Hagrid asked cheerfully.
"All done!" Olivia replied with a smile, "shall we go to the registers and put it through?"
"Do people normally register their clothes?" Hagrid asked curiously.
"You don't do much shopping, do you?" Olivia laughed.
Skyla realised as they approached the registers that all of her new things would require payment. This was a problem as she severely doubted that she had enough money for them, seeing as she had no money at all. She had been so caught up in the whirlwind of the department store that she hadn't considered how she was actually going to pay. A sense of dread rose within her; with how long the woman had spent helping her, how could she possibly turn around and suddenly say she didn't have any money? She would feel utterly awful and she already felt guilty enough as it was.
"Hagrid," Skyla whispered in a panic, "I don't have any money."
He simply chuckled in response.
"Oh don't you worry about tha'," he said happily, "now, how much is this stuff?"
"... one hundred and ten pounds, sixty five pence for the lot," Olivia replied after working the final price out from the packaging and the tags she pulled from Skyla's clothing, "and worth every penny, I assure you. It's all excellent quality."
Hagrid dug into his pocket and fished out a handful of notes with a little confusion at the currency.
"Is this enough?"
He gave the handful of notes to the assistant, who stared down in shock at the fistful of cash.
"This… this is more than enough," she said as she realised that he had given her a multitude of fifty pound notes, "in fact… this is way too much…"
"Oh? Well, then keep whatever is left for your help," Hagrid said happily, "you certainly earned it."
"There's no way that I could-"
"I insist," Hagrid said with a nod, "you've been very helpful. Now, we best get on with things, a lot to do today and time's tickin'."
"Wait, I can't accept thi-"
Hagrid wasn't listening as he picked up the bags of clothes and guided Skyla back to the motorbike with her purchases in hand.
"She was nice," he said airily as they departed the store, leaving behind the flustered assistant who was still holding more money than her entire weeks worth of pay.
"Alright, next stop, The Leaky Cauldron," Hagrid said fondly, "and a good thing too; getting a mite thirsty. Gotta be near lunchtime already. Hold these for a sec, would ya?"
He handed the bags to Skyla while he dug around in his pocket, eventually taking out a small key that he used to open a compartment on the back of the side-car. He took the bags back from Skyla and placed her new purchases in the compartment for safe keeping, before sealing it once again with a satisfying 'click'.
"Where did you get all that money?" Skyla asked as she climbed back into the side-car once again.
"You don't think I earned it with hard work?" Hagrid teased slightly as he sat down on the motorcycle and the entire frame dropped several inches.
"Oh, no I didn't mean to imply-"
"I'm just kiddin'," he said with a chuckle, "Dumbledore gave me some muggle money in case I needed it. Got a few more notes somewhere if we need it, but we'll be back in the magical world soon and we'll be right from there. Now pop that helmet back on, there's a good girl."
The two departed with a loud roar of the exhaust, which caused more angry scowls from the surrounding muggles, and they were soon dodging and weaving their way through traffic as they headed into the heart of London, heading for 'The Leaky Cauldron'. From the name, Skyla had been expecting to find some kind of strange 'witches coven' that was down a dark lane and populated by shadowy figures who had two heads and large warts on the tip of their noses. What she hadn't been expecting to find was a simple little pub that looked rather poor and run down, with a broken sign out the front and old windows that were covered with so much dust it was impossible to see anything through them.
"Don't let the look deceive you," Hagrid said knowingly as he parked the bike out the front, "second best mead you'll find in all of Great Britain here."
"Second best?"
"Aye," Hagrid said with a slight grin, "only cause the best has to be served by Rosmerta."
Skyla didn't understand, but simply nodded along anyway.
"Hello Tom," Hagrid said airily as he led the way into the pub while Skyla quietly shuffled in behind him.
"Hagrid!" the bartender called back cheerfully, "the usual?"
Skyla couldn't help but stare at the bartender; he had a large, hunched back and beady little eyes that followed their every move. He hadn't addressed her at all, however he was clearly aware of her presence as he inspected her for a moment with a deep, appraising look.
"Oh… go on, just a quick one," Hagrid said as he sat down at the bar, as if he hadn't been planning on having one this entire time.
"What brings you around today?" Tom asked as he began to pour a pint of Hagrid's preferred mead.
"Hogwarts business," Hagrid said with a knowing tap on his nose.
"Hm… who's this little one, then?" Tom asked as he peered over the counter and down at Skyla. She looked to Hagrid, but Hagrid said nothing and simply looked at her with a small smile.
"I… I'm… Skyla Potter," she said slowly, as if she didn't quite believe it herself.
"Merlin's beard," Tom said quietly as his eyes flicked down to her hand and lingered on her open palm, held loosely by her side. The pint he was filling began to overflow into the sink, to Hagrid's great dismay, however Tom had forgotten all about it entirely. In defense of the mead, Hagrid leaned over and snatched the drink from his hand, using his own sleeve to wipe the side with a small huff at the wasted liquor.
"THE Skyla Potter…? Could it be…?" Tom quietly spoke in wonder.
"Did you just say Skyla Potter?" two older men with strangely coloured hats wandered across from their stools and looked between her and Tom repeatedly, "surely you jest?"
Their eyes wandered down to her hand and spotted the distinctive star-shaped scar on her palm. Skyla immediately closed her fist self-consciously as soon as she realised what they were looking at, however the damage had been done.
"By Merlin it IS her…" the first man said in awe, "she has the scar and look, she even has Potter's hair. Remember? He had dark hair too, black as night-"
"Aye," the second one agreed excitedly, "and look, those green eyes! She would look just like her mother if you gave her red hair…"
"Welcome home, Skyla Potter," Tom said directly to her, cutting across the two excitable old men, "I've been waiting to say those words for a very long time."
"Skyla Potter…?"
"... 'the' Skyla Potter…?"
Murmurs and whispers ran throughout the small group of daytime drinkers that were suddenly beginning to encircle her. It was a little intimidating and Skyla backed up slowly from the advancing crowd towards Hagrid, who was sitting on his stool and watching on with a knowing look.
"Bless you Skyla," an old man with a rather flamboyant purple suit said tearfully as he walked up, "we owe you so much."
"Oh… um… you don't owe me anything-"
"My condolences for you loss," another man said who approached from the rear of the pub.
"I… didn't lose anything-"
"We're all here now because of what you did, your bravery…" an older woman said as she joined the group, "Merlin's beard, Skyla Potter…"
"I didn't do anything-"
Skyla wasn't sure what to do, so she simply looked to Hagrid for help, who chuckled slightly and downed the rest of his pint.
"Alright, that's enough of you lot!" Hagrid said loudly with a slight belch, "lots to do. Can't have her out here signing autographs all day!"
"Oh, Merlin's balls!" One of the old men swore, "I should have brought a quill! Anyone got something she can sign for me-"
"Dedalus!" Tom reprimanded, "I will not have you swearing in front of The Girl-Who-Lived."
A few angry murmurs permeated the group in his direction and Dedalus held up his hands in surrender, while Hagrid chuckled and escorted Skyla away from the group.
"To the Potters!" One of the men said as he raised his beer in her direction, causing a small rallying cheer to carry around the pub as everyone raised their drinks in response.
"That was bizarre," Skyla said to Hagrid as he led her out the back into a small, empty courtyard.
"Told you, you're famous," Hagrid said, "you best get used to that response. You're gonna see it a lot."
"I didn't even do anything though," Skyla pointed out, "nothing that I remember doing anyway."
"Don't matter," Hagrid said with a shrug, "not to those who remember. We remember how it used to be, back then. Back in the dark days… no matter how you did it, you brought our world back into the light and those who lived through it won't ever forget that, or forget you."
He frowned for a moment, before shaking his head to clear the thought.
"But, no more of that dark talk here," Hagrid said as he forced a smile back on his face and took out his pink umbrella. He tapped three very specific bricks on a rather ordinary looking brick wall and Skyla was astonished to see the wall suddenly begin to mould and change before her eyes. The bricks rotated of their own accord and begin to retreated back into each other, pulling away from the center and leaving an open archway in the middle.
"Welcome… to Diagon Alley," Hagrid said proudly as he held out his hand in a sweeping motion.
Beyond the enchanted archway that separated the magical and muggle worlds, Skyla could see a bustling, busy street that was full of life and vigor. Groups of families walked from store to store while vendors peddled their wares on the street with catchy slogans and bold claims of never-before-seen effects. The sudden bombardment of noise startled Skyla, but she continued to stare down the alley with a growing sense of awe. The shops looked utterly magical; many of them had moving signs and displays that repeatedly performed colourful demonstrations of their products in action, while others had enchanted advertisements that quite literally grabbed the attention of the customer by reaching out and tapping them on the shoulder. It was chaotic and wild; there was so much noise and activity happening before her eyes that part of her felt a sudden, bizarre urge to run back home and lock herself in the dark cellar. Yet at the same time, she was in awe of the unusual place and she almost felt a giddy sense of excitement at the idea of running through the alley and looking at all of the strange and wonderful things on display.
"Now, before we get you any of your school stuff, we best visit Gringotts and get some money," Hagrid pointed out, "that's the bank, the white building down the end there."
"Alright, but I don't know how I'm going to pay for-"
"Like I said, don't worry," Hagrid said with a slight smile.
The bank was on the opposite side of the alley which meant that Skyla got to have a brief look at many of the strange displays in the windows along the way. It was all very fascinating and she couldn't believe just how bold and busy everything was; it was as though every possible product or shopfront was competing to be the loudest, the most colourful or the most obscure. Unlike the grey and desolate world that she had known within the orphanage, this world was full of constant noises, sound and colours yet the people didn't seem to bat an eyelid at the excitement and merely busied themselves from one shop to the next, deeply absorbed within their own needs and wants.
"Here we are," Hagrid said as they reached the large marble building that had 'GRINGOTTS' written on the front in big, bold letters made of what appeared to be solid gold. Skyla thought that it was rather absurd for anyone to throw that much gold into writing their business name out the front in such an elaborate display of wealth and excess, even if it was a bank. She briefly wondered if anyone had ever tried to steal the golden letters, but since they were still there, she figured that there must surely be a reason that no-one had made off with them yet.
They stepped inside and unlike the chaotic, whirling crowds in the street outside, the inside of the bank was neat, orderly and exceptionally clean. The tellers sat behind elevated marble desks that towered over the customer, and Skyla was intelligent enough to realise why when she saw the various staff members walking around. They were all exceptionally short, with sharp, pointed ears and all possessed a variety of skin colours, ranging from an almost human pink to a few that were very dark green.
"Goblins," Hagrid whispered quietly to her, "very temperamental, but excellent with numbers. And spears."
"I guess they want to remind people who is in charge," Skyla whispered back as she pointed between the very tall desks and the obvious presence of rather dangerous looking weapons that lined the walls behind them.
"Well spotted," Hagrid said, rather impressed at her perceptiveness, "goblins have a very… complicated history with magical folk. A lot of bad blood there."
"But they control the money? And magical people don't mind that?"
"Well... like I said… complicated history."
They stopped talking as Hagrid led them up to the front counter where a goblin was stamping pages on an unknown document.
"Hello," he said cheerfully to the goblin, "got someone who wishes to claim a family account."
"And that would be?" the goblin asked, without looking up at them as he continued to work.
"Skyla Potter."
Apparently she was famous among goblins too, as a chorus of whispers suddenly rang out among the staff and she spotted a few goblins running off into other rooms, presumably to tell other goblins about who had just arrived at their bank. She shook her head in disbelief at the sight; it was just simply unnerving for so many people to know her name when she had only just learned it herself.
The goblin before them however didn't seem to have quite the same reaction as the others, though he did stop his stamping to peered down at the two.
"And does Miss Potter have her key?" the goblin asked pointedly.
"Ah, no she doesn't," Hagrid said quickly, "her parents had the key you see, and no-one knows what they did with it, but you can get her a new one, can't you?"
"Perhaps," the goblin said as sat back and peered down at her right hand, "if she is who she says she is."
After a moment, the goblin turned around and whispered quietly to someone behind him, who immediately ran off through a side door. A minute later, a different goblin emerged and walked around the front desk to visually inspect Skyla. He had quite dark green skin with intense, jet black eyes and he intimidatingly stared at her for a moment, before he eventually jerked his thumb in the direction of a side-door to their left, clearly indicating for her to enter it.
Skyla shrugged and she began to head over towards the door with Hagrid in tow, however the goblin held up a hand, causing them to stop.
"Only she can verify her identity," the goblin said firmly to Hagrid, "you must wait out here."
"Are… you gonna be okay alone, Skyla?" Hagrid asked with concern.
Skyla shrugged hesitantly, " I… guess... this doesn't, uh, hurt or anything does it?"
"Only at first," the goblin said with a vindictive grin as he bared his teeth and lightly pushed the now much more concerned Skyla into the room before closing the door behind her.
Skyla's head was swimming with images of strange torture devices, iron chains and all manner of creative contraptions that her over-stimulated imagination generated as she entered, however she was surprised to see that inside the room was merely a marble desk with a few chairs and some parchment in the middle with a black quill resting on top.
"Sit," the goblin instructed as he indicated toward one of the customer chairs, while he moved around to the other side of the desk and sat on a slightly taller chair. The almost petty action amused Skyla, despite her concern about her current predicament. She sat down in her allocated seat and waited patiently for him to continue.
"Before you is some parchment and an enchanted quill," he said dryly, "you simply need to write your name at the top of the parchment and the enchantments will do the rest."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
With a shrug, Skyla took the strange quill and, using it as she would a ballpoint pen, she started writing her name in shaky letters.
"Ow...!"
She felt a sharp pain on the back of her hand and she was surprised to see that blood was appearing on the page instead of ink. She quickly realised that several small, shaky cuts had appeared on the back of her hand which perfectly matched the letters that she was writing.
"Oh? So that's how it works…?"
The goblin leered at her for a moment, however in the end she shrugged slightly and continued. It was a little painful, but it wasn't actually all that bad. She watched with fascination as she continued to write out her name, and in her own handwriting the cuts formed a messy, 'SKLYA POTTER', on her hand. It began to rapidly heal as soon as she stopped writing, and she almost felt a little disappointed at having the words fade from her skin.
She placed the quill down when she was finished and the goblin picked up the parchment, inspecting it closely.
"Do I… need to do anything else?" Skyla asked hesitantly.
"Merely review your assets," the goblin said as he handed the parchment back to her. She looked at it and to her surprise, words had appeared on the page below her writing.
Personal Details
Name
Skyla Potter.
Date of Birth
31st July, 1980.
Biological Parents
James Potter, Lily Potter (née Evans).
Personal Status
Head of House Potter (emancipated minor).
Account Status
Active, paid in full.
Blood-Status
Half-Blood (Potter).
Assets
Vault(s)
687 - Net Value (re-count required).
921 - Net Value (N/A).
[redacted]
Property
Potter Cottage, Godric's Hollow.
Investment Portfolio
Sleekeazy's Hair Potion (90%).
Flourish & Blotts (40%).
Twilfitt and Tatting's (30%).
Quality Quidditch Supplies (20%).
Honeydukes (20%).
The Three Broomsticks (10%).
"I don't understand what a lot of this means," Skyla admitted with a shake of her head.
"You are the last remaining member of House Potter," the goblin explained, "thus, you became emancipated under goblin law when you turned eleven to ensure the survival of your house and the continuity of business."
"Okay," Skyla said with a nod.
"... I still don't understand what that means."
"You will be treated as 'matured' by goblins and the bank, for better… or for worse," he said with a small, vicious looking smile that showed his sharp fangs.
"Humans have their own laws about such matters," he added with a shrug of indifference, "but that matters little to us. When it comes Gringotts' gold, our law is absolute."
"Now," he continued, "your accounts have been kept active through the automatic subtractions of our account keeping fees that your parents established. If you wish to cancel the automatic subtraction you may do so, but you will be responsible for ensuring that the appropriate fees are paid on time."
"I… whatever you think I should do?" Skyla said, unsure. She was feeling incredibly overwhelmed and she didn't really understand what he was saying. She had once found a fifty-pence coin and she had struggled for weeks about what to do with it.
"It would be logical to maintain the automatic subtraction," the goblin said flatly, "the rest is a listing of family assets, which have all flourished healthily within the last ten years due to a booming post-war economic growth, and your mother's particularly sharp investments."
Skyla's head was reeling as she tried to process what any of that actually meant. The goblin used words that she had never heard before and she found that she could do little more than nod along in confusion.
"I think it best that we show you to your vaults," the goblin said, "you can withdraw some money if you desire while you are there too."
"O-Okay…"
It was all very confusing and Skyla didn't feel particularly connected to any of it. The strange words and numbers meant nothing to her and the only thing that she had paid any attention to on the parchment had been the names of her parents, listed below her own. Seeing her own name next to theirs had made everything sudden feel very real, and very daunting. She didn't know what she had expected when she came into the bank, but it hadn't been this. Her head spun painfully as she tried to process any of it.
She was so distracted and lost in thought as they left that she was hardly even aware they had regrouped with Hagrid and were taking some very strange mine-carts down into the underground levels of the bank, guided by the goblin as he directed the cart at a ludicrously high speed. To Skyla, it hardly felt any different than being in the side-car of Hagrid's motorcycle, yet he looked extremely uncomfortable and rather ill as they aggressively zoomed down along the extremely thin small rails.
They arrived at their first destination and Hagrid had to take a moment to hover nauseously over the side of the cart. Skyla was okay however, and so she stepped out onto the platform with the goblin.
"Vault 687," he announced as he ran his long finger down the center of the vault entrance, which caused the many locks and gears to start turning and twisting loudly behind the solid iron doors. The doors slowly pulled apart in the middle to reveal an exceptionally large vault that Skyla was able to walk into, though she hardly had any space to move around. Within the vault were towering piles of gold coins that formed an almost endless sea of wealth. It was an utter mess, yet the swarm of money was up to her shoulders in height and she could have easily swum in the coins if she had so desired.
"The vault requires a re-count," the goblin said as he shuffled some coins out of the way with his foot, though more simply fell back from the pile in their place, "but that required authorisation as it will cost you to do so. Your dividends over the years have been dumped here by the vault staff and, as you can see, there is no requirement for the private exchange of gold to be stacked neatly or tidily, it merely need be the correct amount, with the Gringotts fee deducted."
He kicked some of the gold with his foot in attempt to push it back into the pile, however all he succeeded in doing was spilling more over the floor in front of them.
"There has been a lot of coin placed in here over the years," he added, unnecessarily.
Skyla thought that he seemed rather annoyed as he looked around at the vault. Perhaps it was simply the fact that it was messy, while the rest of the bank was spotlessly clean and efficient.
"I would certainly recommend a re-count," he said as he looked around distastefully.
"Sure, go ahead," Skyla said with a shrug. She felt more like it was his money than hers as she didn't even know it existed until now. She didn't really mind what he did with it and she privately wondered if she might prefer to not have to deal with it at all.
"Very well, I shall organise it immediately upon your departure," he said in an almost happy tone. Well, as happy as any goblin was capable of sounding.
"You should take what you'll need for today," Hagrid, who had finally recovered, said as he rejoined them and peered into the overflowing vault with awe, "do you mind if I take the replacement for the muggle money we spent earlier to give back to Dumbledore?"
Skyla shook her head, "take whatever you want. Really, please do."
She was surprised when Hagrid only picked up a small handful of coins and stashed them in his pocket.
"You don't want some more?" Skyla asked.
"That's plenty," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"What are these even worth?" she asked as she picked up a gold coin and inspected it. It was quite heavy for a coin and it did have a rather nice feel to it as she weighed in her hand.
"One gold galleon is worth 21.43 pounds stirling at the current muggle exchange rate for gold by weight," the goblin recited flawlessly, "and one galleon is worth 17 silver sickles, while 1 sickle is worth 29 bronze knuts."
Skyla furrowed her brow as she tried to process the numbers. It had been a long time since she had done any math practice.
"There must be millions of pounds in here then," Skyla realised eventually, "why is there so much money? Where did this all come from?"
"The Potter family is an old family that has been building this vault for generations," the goblin pointed out, "and your parents added their own sizable wealth to the vault after your father's parents died and he became Head of House, not long before you would have been born. In addition, your mother was a clever investor and co-developer of a range of magical products, to which she took shares in the business instead of outright pay."
"I didn't know that part," Hagrid said in surprise, "I thought Lily made and sold potions."
"She did," the goblin said, "in addition to investing and consulting on the side. She was in high demand for her charms expertise and enchantment abilities. I distinctly remember them arguing within my office over whether she should take direct gold or business shares as payment for her work. Businesses were failing across the country and shares were being sold off left and right due to the war. She insisted however and it paid off, once the economy had begun to rebound following the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She was certainly very clever and she was a pleasure to work with."
Skyla ignored the complicated business matters and instead asked about the main thing that had gotten her attention.
"You knew my parents?"
"I have managed the Potter accounts for my entire matured life," the goblin said flatly, and Skyla almost thought she could hear a sense of pride in his voice.
"That's really cool…" she said with a smile, "what's your name?"
The goblin blinked for a moment before replying, "Krylk is my face-name."
"Face name?" Skyla queried.
"The name given to me by Gringotts so as not to scare customers with my earned name," he sneered slightly.
"Earned name? I don't understand," Skyla said apologetically, "sorry…"
"Goblins must earn their name through a great trial or notable deed when they reach maturity," Krylk explained, "either through combat in the arena or through war against our enemies. Since we have not been to war in some time, most earn their names through the arena, although there are more nameless among us now than there ever has been before in goblin history."
"I know what it is like being nameless," Skyla said quietly, "and I wouldn't wish that on anyone. I sometimes think it is worse than dying."
"Indeed," Krylk said with some surprise in his voice at her words, "it is truly a tragedy for a goblin to live their entire lives as a nameless. A glorious death is far better than a nameless life."
"What is your earned name?" Skyla asked curiously. She kind of liked the idea of earned names, as devastating as it might be to not have one. At least with an earned name, it wasn't up to someone else whether you had one or not.
"Bleeding Eyes is my earned name," he sneered slightly with a rather sadistic grin that showed his sharp fangs, "for the tears my final arena opponent wept when I tore out-"
"Alright that's enough!" Hagrid said quickly, looking almost as green as Krylk, "she's too young to hear stuff like that."
Skyla wasn't overly concerned however. If that was his name, that was his name; only made better by the fact that he had earned it himself.
"I think that's a great name," Skyla said, surprising him, "if that's the name you earned, then it's the name I will call you, Bleeding Eyes. You are not nameless and you shouldn't be treated as such."
He stared at her in astonishment for a moment, however he eventually bared his teeth and gave her a genuinely smile after that, which was almost more terrifying than his dangerous looking sneer that he had displayed earlier.
After filling a moderately sized coin purse that Bleeding Eyes had provided for her, he led them onward to the next vault, number 921. Inside this vault there was no gold; instead, as the vault doors peeled away and revealed the contents, Skyla found an assortment of strange items scattered all around the vault, seemingly organised by category due to the small, hand written signage next to each pile. The items didn't look particularly valuable or overly interesting as most appeared to be things like walkers for young children, tricycles, free standing mirrors, hair brushes and more.
"This was a vault opened to house your mother's experiments," Bleeding Eyes explained, "she was working on adapting muggle products and technology for the magical market, though I believe she ran out of time before she could complete her projects."
"This all belonged to my mother?" Skyla asked in awe as she slowly walked over to one of the piles of odds and ends.
"Some of it is unchanged and harmless," he said, "but some of it is experimental or potentially dangerous. I would advise you not to touch anything until it has been certified by a consultant, which Gringotts can provide… for a price."
Skyla nodded and left the items alone, although it wasn't as though she had intended to disturb anything anyway. Instead, she walked over to the small little signs that were propped up against wooden frames in front of each pile, as if they were an artist's easel. They certainly felt like precious artwork to her as she slowly ran her fingers over the parchment of one of the signs, and carefully inspected the beautifully constructed words. She knew that this had to have been her mother's writing as she doubted that anyone else would have created such beautiful signage for what was likely perceived by most as mere rubbish or waste products. From the little that she knew of goblins so far, they didn't strike her as an overly artistic culture. Her mother had flawless handwriting and each letter was crafted lovingly with long loops and delicate flourishes that made even the simplest of words a wonderful expression, full of vibrant personality. Skyla knelt down in front of one of the signs and gently traced a long flowing 'L' with her own finger. She felt tears begin to form in her eyes as she imagined her mother kneeling in the very same place, though she knew not what she looked like, using ink and a small, thin brush to carefully write out the signage for her passionate projects that no doubt had big, expansive plans.
Skyla had never felt a particularly strong desire to know who her parents were before. She had been mildly curious, of course, but something about kneeling where her mother knelt and tracing the letters she had drawn out years ago made Skyla's heart yearn painfully in a way that she didn't know was possible. She felt a sense of sudden loss for the first time in her life as she realised that she would never be able to speak with them about any of this. She would never see how her mother constructed her perfect brush strokes, nor ask her father about how any of the vaults worked. A single tear dropped down onto the old, tired parchment in front of her as she rested her forehead against the frail wooden frame and tried to stop herself from completely falling apart.
"We need to keep moving," Hagrid said regretfully after a few minutes, "you can always come back here another time."
Skyla sniffled slightly and nodded, eventually getting back to her feet with a soft sigh. A handkerchief appeared beside her and she took it appreciatively, although surprisingly it was Bleeding Eyes who handed it to her without looking at her.
"Thanks…" she said quietly, though he didn't quite meet her gaze.
"We goblins do not have family in the same way that you do," he said to her as he gazed off absently into the vault, "but we do understand loss and grief better than perhaps anyone."
He turned to her and finally met her emerald green eyes with his own. His black eyes burned with a malice that Skyla had never seen before, and she could feel a wave of intense emotion radiating from his core.
"Turn your pain into anger and your loss into vengeance. Defend the names of those who died earning them."
She stared at him in surprise for a moment, however he said nothing more and returned to the cart in silence, waiting for her to gather herself and rejoin him.
After another high-speed cart ride, with Skyla finding herself completely disoriented and utterly lost, they arrived not at the main entrance as she had expected, but at a third and final vault. Hagrid was so nauseous by this point that he simply hung over the side of the cart and heaved his pint of mead down into the depths below.
Bleeding Eyes opened the vault door that had nothing more than the number '4' on the front and, surprisingly, he revealed what appeared to be a completely empty vault. As Skyla stepped forward and peered around in the empty space however, she noticed that there was a single letter lying on the ground; a single sealed letter, that looked absurdly out of place as the only thing in the large vault.
"Your parents opened this vault in secret," he explained quietly to Skyla, "they paid a hefty sum to ensure that it was protected with the most secure enchantments that money could buy, and your mother added her own on top of our own extensive warding. It took our vault staff six months to build and ward, and they no longer remember constructing it. No eyes but your own will penetrate this vault and only myself and the director know its location. If we die, its location will be lost with us."
"All of that, just for a letter?" Skyla asked curiously.
"I have no idea of the contents within the vault," he said with a shrug, "it was not my place to know, only that the vault upkeep is paid for and that the vault remained secure."
"You don't know what's in here? But… it's right here."
"I see only a few stacks of gold, a few pieces of mediocre artwork and some family heirlooms," he replied, "exactly as intended. I imagine your friend sees much of the same. It looks completely and utterly uninteresting to me."
Skyla stepped into the vault with awe and picked up the lonely letter, which had her name on it in the exact same handwriting that she had just tearfully traced. She thought about opening it on the spot, but she decided to take mercy on Hagrid and allow them to finally leave the deep underground labyrinth which was clearly giving him no end of trouble, physically and mentally. She emerged from the vault with the letter in hand and Krylk offered her small backpack that he had, once again, managed to pull from nowhere.
"You can store any amount of items in this bag," he explained briefly, "it is bottomless and impervious. It will be useful for holding your gold and your shopping."
"Oh?"
Skyla peered down into the bag, but she only saw an impenetrable darkness inside.
"That's… pretty cool!"
She slipped the letter into the backpack along with her coin purse, before placing the bag on her back and tightening the straps to fit.
"Thanks," she said, giving Bleeding Eyes a fond smile.
"Not a problem," he replied airily, "I'll charge it to your vault, along with the handkerchief. And the tour. And the history lesson."
Skyla ogled him for a moment, until she eventually realised as he bared his teeth that he was making a joke. She couldn't help but laugh and shake her head slightly at him in response, although it wouldn't be until much later in life that she realised just how rare the interaction she had with the goblin had been, and that she had just joined a very exclusive list of magical people who held something no amount of wealth and influence could ever truly buy; a goblin's respect.
"Alright, let's get out of here," she said with a sigh, "I think Hagrid is going to pass out."
"Don' worry 'bout me…" Hagrid groaned out quietly, "I'll… I'll be right…"
Despite his words, he seemed positively relieved when they had finally said farewell to Bleeding Eyes and departed the bank. He eagerly gulped in the fresh air as colour returned to his face and a renewed sense of energy radiated through his body.
"Right," he eventually said as he slapped his face lightly, "now that's over with… let's go get your school stuff. We still got a lot to get done today."
Skyla shrugged and let him lead the way, with her overflowing coin purse at the ready and a large shopping list still to be obtained.
It had been quite the productive day and for the first time in her life, she felt as though she may just have a place within the world after all.